


Do We Lament the Lost?

by Peregrin_Ionad



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Community: lotr_community, Gen, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-07
Updated: 2011-11-07
Packaged: 2017-10-25 20:01:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peregrin_Ionad/pseuds/Peregrin_Ionad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arwen laments Galadriel's passage west and her own passing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do We Lament the Lost?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kaylee Arafinwiel](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Kaylee+Arafinwiel).



> Remix of http://www.lotrgfic.com/viewstory.php?sid=712

You are beautiful,  
as deep  
and  
dark  
and  
terrible  
as the worst winter storm  
thrashing the broken shore,  
thunder pounding  
and lightning,  
splitting the horizon.  
But fair.  
Sun sparkling on the snow  
of the highest peaks  
pales to insignificance  
in confrontation  
with your grace.  
How they all love you.  
And yet you said they would despair.  
Their love is stronger than the foundations of this world,  
perhaps.  
You know that he loves most of all  
that  
which you have lost.  
You hold half his heart  
but the other has long since sailed,  
pulled out along the tide  
a twisting current  
of  
forgetfulness  
or so you dare to hope.  
If we are evening and morning  
more alike than a mirror shows  
then what was she?  
your lost child.  
The midday sun  
or midnight moon.  
I am not her.  
I grieve for her as I grieve for you,  
as you will at my passing  
and at the sundering of the world.  
All the days of my life  
I will remain,  
as you,  
diminish as you wish,  
go west  
or east  
your heart will tell your way,  
as mine did.  
You do not agree,  
of course,  
you are too proud  
and of far too noble kin.  
Does his loyalty surprise you?  
Would you wish him among  
the faithless.  
He is,  
after all,  
another echo.  
I took my heart  
tied it  
to his.  
you did  
the same  
so many moons ago.  
Do you  
remember  
love’s  
first blush?  
As soft  
as the pale flowers  
you cherish  
and  
bring to bloom  
each summer.  
You shall never reach your winter  
as I shall.  
You remain  
ever spring.  
Your grace will not fade  
to grey  
and aching bones.  
You are as hard  
as stone  
and time,  
as such,  
will not touch you.  
The long years  
crease only my cheeks.  
Your eyes grow old,  
perhaps.  
You say I cannot imagine  
your sorrow,  
but I have my father’s sorrow  
enough.  
All these years  
and still I see  
the relief in his eyes  
that my hair  
is dark.  
Does it hurt you  
to see  
her in the mirror  
or has time,  
as it moves  
soft and sedentary  
dancing the slow dance,  
smoothed your memory  
into a faint portrait  
in a forgotten gallery?


End file.
